


An Error In Divine Bookkeeping

by pocketsizedquasar



Category: Moby Dick - Herman Melville
Genre: Angst, M/M, So much angst, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 15:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19321102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketsizedquasar/pseuds/pocketsizedquasar
Summary: Some divine favor was involved in keeping Ishmael afloat on that coffin, or so everyone but Ishmael seems to think.Minor content warning for suicidal thoughts.





	An Error In Divine Bookkeeping

The first person to tell Ishmael that he's lucky is the captain of the Rachel. He has him brought to the cabin, below-deck, wet and spluttering and still gripping a dead man's coffin. He feeds him and gives him a fresh set of clothes and questions and when they are done, he leaves Ishmael with "you're lucky we found you."  
Ishmael doesn't feel lucky, though. He clutches the rim of the coffin with one hand, as if he were still drowning, as if the solid wood below him would give way at any moment and send him plunging back into that unforgiving ocean, as if he wants that to happen. He doesn't feel lucky here, grieving amongst all these grievers, a mourner in a graveyard who stumbled across the wrong funeral procession and didn't have the conviction or the sense to leave it.   
  
Then it's the owners of the _Pequod_ , who scratch their beards and cross their arms as Ishmael sits before them, looking and feeling like he tumbled out of the wrong side of hell. They have both just finished arguing over how much to give him, though at the moment he would settle for being left alone, but at last Bildad relents to Peleg's grumblings and the latter leads Ishmael back outside. "It's a miracle you survived."   
Ishmael wants to snap back that there is nothing miraculous about this situation, that he is an unfinished suffocation, a death left half-completed, an error in divine bookkeeping, but he bites his tongue. He tastes sea salt and the coppery tang of his own blood.   
  
Ishmael loses count after that. Loses track of the people who tell him he was saved, he was lucky, he had heaven working in his favor.   
  
The last person to say it is a pastor. Ishmael is not entirely sure why he still goes to church, but he does anyways; he ducks his head and closes his eyes and tries not to look too spitefully at the cross on the wall.   
"You will have to move on eventually." The pastor is old, with kind eyes, a receding hairline.   
Ishmael pauses before the door, already tasting salt water and bile on his tongue, already feeling cold waters rise around him as his lungs shake in their cage. "I'll inform you when that happens," he says, trying to stop his voice from sounding as bitter as it tastes.   
The old man smiles gently. "You have been blessed with another chance, do not waste--"   
" _Blessed_ ?" This time, Ishmael does not bother to keep the edge from his voice. He hears screams, waves crashing, wood splintering.   
The pastor's smile softens. "You're very lucky to have survived this. God has shown you mercy--"   
" _Lucky_? If I was lucky, I wouldn't be here," he snaps. Ishmael cringes as the old man flinches in surprise; he knows the pastor is well meaning, but he is unable to stop the flood of words and finds that this time, he doesn't want to. "If God wanted to be  _merciful_ He would have let me drown. He would have finished what he started." His voice rises with the water around him. He feels pressure on his lungs, feels his body tremble and shake. "Mercy would have let me die there with the rest of them. Mercy would bring him back to me. Sometimes I find it difficult to tell the difference between God's _love_ and His _hate_."   
Ishmael is drowning again, drowning without dying, drowning in that tiny white church as the old man stands feet from him and looks, and watches, and smiles.   
Ishmael sways on his feet. The room tilts and resets itself. The waters recede slightly; his heart steadies its rattling. He turns on his heel before he can say anything else and barrels through the door, choking on seawater, crushed beneath the weight of his own lungs.   
(Of course, he only makes it to the end of the block before he stops, turns, drags himself back up the hill and apologizes, shaking and withering.   
The pastor has nothing to give him but a sad smile and a prayer.)   
  
That night Ishmael goes to sleep and dreams of drowning.   
In dreams, at least, he has the good sense to die.


End file.
